POEM: eat at joe’s

eat at joe’s

it’s a line I remember from MAD magazine
not the ones my parents used to stuff
into my stocking each christmas morning
but the older books I found in comic shops
filled with potztrebies and furshlingers
smilin’ melvin and tarzan parodies
references my 8- or 9- or 10-year-old brain
had no frame for (I laughed anyway)
I finally made it! my first joe’s
it’s perfect, too: use-worn wooden tables
a friendly waiter complete with
stringy mustache and soiled apron
Karen keeps my plastic cup
filled to the brim with sweet tea
everybody asks if I’m a a thru-hiker
because of the big backpack
they all seem a bit disappointed
when I tell them I came on a bus
for a fleeting moment I think
I’ll leave town early
walk to charlottesville
then my veggie burger arrives
if one more beautiful woman walks in here
I may never leave
spend my days in a booth
writing love poems
my nights in william byrd park
under the warm virginia sky

10 June 2012
Richmond, VA

(For more about Joe’s Inn, read yesterday’s tour diary.)